Unlooked for
by Killer Barbie
Summary: After Théodred's death Éomer has to cope with the loss. Théoden and Wormtongue are making it harder, so he leaves in secret to persue orcs on their way to Isengard. But then some unexpected things happen... not an AUÉomerLegolas
1. Prologue

Unlooked for  
  
E/N: Okay, I've just done what I never thought to happen. I started on a slash-story. Well, sort of anyway. It's my first serious story, and also my first slash, so be nice ok? Also my very first adventure story so feedback if it needs improvement, please! Thnx, hope you'll enjoy it,  
  
Love, peace and a paperclip,  
  
-xxx- Elvea  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own anything that New Line Cinema or Tolkien Enterprises already owns *sobs* and I am not gaining any other profit out of writing this than (positive) reviews. So there.  
  
This chapter is dedicated to Sozi and Ari who helped me pick the title... |:o)  
  
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Prologue - The Batte at the Fords of Isen  
  
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A dim and misty morning at the Fords of Isen. The river ran swiftly down from its sources above Isengard, broad and shallow, passing in two arms about a large eyot. Over a stony shelf covered with pebbles and stones brought from the north it went. Just above a westward bend in the River were the Fords, in the land of Rohan's Gap.  
  
Théodred looked out over the landscape. He had been warned by his scouts that troups were mustering at the Gates of Isengard, and as it seemed mainly on the west side of the river. With twelve full companies he set out, to stop Saruman's army before it was fully prepared, hoping to come in time. Three of these companies he left on the east bank, but the main strenght of his cavalry he took with him.  
  
As he looked around, things seemed awefully quiet. The only sound to be heard was the neighing of the horses, the thudding of their hooves as they rode along, and the soft muttering of some of the Riders. A threatening feeling started growing within him. The feeling grew as the day wore on. About twenty miles they had ridden from the Fords when they came across the vanguard of Saruman's host. Théodred acted without hesitating. Immediately they attacked, and it didn't take his host long to shatter Saruman's and caused it loss.  
  
More at ease now Théodred urged his company to ride on, and with a higher spirit than before. But not long after their battle they heard battlecries coming from all round them, and within a few moments Théodred found himself and his leading éored brought to a stand by Saruman's main host. New forces were coming from Isengard, and were outflanking him on west side. He was nearly surrounded. His hope turned to his east side. If only he knew what was to be expected there...  
  
A breeze came up from the west and slowly the mists started rolling back through the Gap. At the east also he could now descry forces hastening towards the Fords, but he could not guess their strenght. At once the feeling of fear overwhelmed Théodred, fear that the Riddermark would fall.  
  
'Retreat!' he cried, knowing that his only hope of escape was in this manoeuvre. This one manoeuvre the Riders of the Mark were well trained in, and they managed it in good order, with very little loss. Saruman's host immediately set out to pursue Théodred's host, and he found himself unable to shake the host off. He cursed under his breath when the retreat was delayed as his rearguard was forced to turn and drive off the most eager pursuers. Shortly after he could hear Grimbold, who was in command of the rearguard, cry and he knew things had gone well, or well enough. More than once Grimbold was oblidged to turn at bay to stop pursuers.  
  
It was at the waning of the day when Théodred finally gained the Fords. He set a garrison on the west bank and left Grimbold in charge. Théodred thought quickly what to do, and fifty dismounted Riders were also left with Grimbold. He sent the other Riders over the river at once, along with all the horses. He only kept his own company with him, and with these men he manned the eyot, so that if Grimbold would be driven back, they could cover his retreat. Barely had he reached the eyot when Saruman's eastern force came down upon him and his host with unexpected speed, and though it was much smaller than the western host, Théodred knew it was much more dangerous.  
  
In the host were horsemen of Dunland, and a large pack of orcish wolfriders, feared by horses. These wolves were very swift and used mostly to destroy isolated groups, but at need they would pass through any gaps in companies with reckless ferocity, slashing at the bellies of the horses. Two battalions of Uruk-hai there were also, heavily armed. The horsemen and wolfriders attacked the horse-herds and the picketed horses immediately, and they were slain or dispersed. The garrison on the east bank was swept away, overcome by the sudden assault of the Uruk-hai, and the Riders that had just crossed from the west were driven from the Fords along the Isen, even though they fought desperately.  
  
Théodred knew hope was failing as the enemy took the eastern end of the Fords. A company appeared, of men and orc-men, clad in mail and armed with axes. This company attacked Théodred from both sides. As he fought the hidious creatures he felt that they were trying to drive him away from the shores of the eyot, to the low knoll in its centre. He knew that if aid wouldn't come fast, they would succeed. Already he and his company were further from the shores than before.  
  
'To me, Eorlingas!' Théodred cried. This drew the attention of a great orc- man, and Théodred just barely managed to counter the first two blows of the wielded axe. He knew Grimbold would come to his aid if only he held out a little longer against his opponent. As he fought he could indeed see Grimbold and two other men approaching. But the orc-man caught him off guard at that very second, and even as Grimbold came near to him, he felt the axe smash into his side, cutting through his flesh deep into his body. He sank to the ground, feeling the blood flowing from his body. He knew he was dying. He felt himself slipping away into the darkness.  
  
Grimbold continued to fight, trying to rescue what was left of the company, but he, too, felt hope failing. But then all heard the great thundering of many hooves speeding towards the Fords, and like black shadows the great host of Elfhelm, as it seemed to them, approached. Few of the enemy stood to await the oncoming battle and most fled northwards. Elfhelm send two of the four companies that were with him to pursue those who fled, and left one company to guard the east bank. He knew haste was needed.  
  
Grimbold and his men were now fighting the axemen from one side, and Elfhelm with his own company on the other side. The Rohirrim stil held possesion of both banks, and the axemen were now caught between the two companies. Still the axe-men kept on fighting.  
  
Grimbold desperately guarded Théodred's body, refusing to let the enemy get hold of it. He soon found himself fighting two axemen at a time, defending himself from their axe-blows and trying to slay them. Elfhelm came to his aid and at once slew one of the men. In the confusion Grimbold managed to slay the other. There were no enemies in the eyot left, and as both men stooped to lift Théodred's body, they found him still breathing, but barely.  
  
Théodred felt things becoming lighter in his head, pain fading away. He couldn't open his eyes to see what was happenening, but he knew that two men had intended to lift him and take him away only seconds before.  
  
'Let me lie here...' he whispered, 'to keep the Fords till Éomer comes' even as he spoke the words his voice failed and he slipped back into the, this time, final darkness. The son of the King was dead. The two men had only barely heard Théodred's final words. Then the night fell and a harsh horn was blown, followed by silence. The attack on the west bank ceased, and the enemy there disappeared into the darkness.  
  
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E/N: Well, that's it for now... Éomer will be there in the next chapter, so please, a little patience. If you want me to continue this, that is. I know, it's short, and not very good, but please people, tell me what you think! 


	2. Éomer's Vengeance

E/N: I would like to say that this fic follows the line of the books rather than the movies, so if you haven't read the books a lot of things could confuse you later on. Like Haldir surviving the war. Anyway, like I said, this is a book-fic, not a movie-fic. Thank you for listening. 

Love, peace and a paperclip,

-xxx- Elvea

Disclaimer: I do not own anything that New Line Cinema or Tolkien Enterprises already owns *sobs* and I am not gaining any other profit out of writing this than (positive) reviews. So there.

This chapter is dedicated to Godforsaken, my wonderful new beta of the story. So yay her and thanks a lot! |:o)

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Chapter 1 – Éomer's Vengeance

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A chill wind blew over the great plains of Rohan. The night was falling, as if to forebode the darkness that was yet to come. A darkness filled with despair, darkness without any hope of an ending. The Great Darkness of Sauron. Two messengers rode over the plains in haste: one coming from the north and one coming from the west, neither of them bearing good news, both headed for a different destination.

The rider out of the west reached his destination first; Edoras, and therein its Golden Hall Meduseld. His black steed was exhausted and the rider himself had barely enough strength left to stand. Near to collapsing, he came to the king bringing news of great grief. The news that Théodred, son and only child of the king, had died in the Battle at the Fords of Isen cast a shadow over the entire city. From Edoras a new rider now rode forth into the night with the same destination as the rider of the north: Aldburg, Éomer's dwelling in the Folde. The grievous news reached Éomer before dawn.

Sorrow overwhelmed the Third Marshal of the Mark, and he would see no one. Théodred, more like a brother to him than a foster-brother, had passed away before his time and had left no children; he had not yet even taken a wife. His final wish was for Éomer to set things right, a burden heavy on the shoulders of the Marshall.

Not long after this news reached Éomer, the north-rider arrived at Aldburg, no less exhausted than the rider from the west. At first his lord would not receive him, but when he told him it was urgent he was let in. His news was less grievous, but awoke a great wrath in the Marshal: Orcs were travelling towards Isengard over the plains of Rohan, besmudging them with their foul feet. Orcs of the White Hand, akin to those who murdered Théodred. They would not reach Isengard alive or stain the plains with more blood; Éomer would see to it that all of them were slain. They would pay for the grief they caused.

A fourth messenger now rode from Aldburg to Edoras, asking leave for Éomer and his _éored_ to pursue the orcs. But the king, grieved by the loss of his son and poisoned by the words of a wicked worm, denied permission. Before noon the messenger returned to Aldburg.

Éomer looked on the messenger kneeling before him. 'What news from Edoras? What does the King of the Mark bid me to do?'

'He bids thee nothing, lord,' the messenger answered. 'But he _orders_ thee to remain here and let them be.' He straightened himself.

'He _orders_ me to?'

'Yes lord, he does.'

'Nonsense. Those words do not come from him, but from that wretched creature Wormtongue. He wants me to leave the death of my brother unavenged; he wants me to let those foul creatures do as they will. I will not obey that worm. Tell my men to get ready for battle. We will leave tomorrow night.'

'But lord-'

'That is an order.'

'Yes, lord.' The messenger bowed once more and left the halls to get his task fulfilled. Éomer followed him with his eyes until he was gone.

'He does not understand,' he muttered. 'He does not understand my pain. I will make them pay.' With that he turned and left the hall to prepare himself for battle. In the night that followed the next day he rode from Aldburg with one hundred and nineteen men under his command to hunt down and slay the Orcs, as had been planned.

They rode the night away, taking only a short rest just before dawn. Then they continued their pursuit at great speed, thanks to their horses of the noble _mearas_ race. In the late afternoon they could see the Orcs in the distance and they sped on their horses; they were now gaining in on them like a swift oncoming tide.

The Orcs quickened their pace and already had reached a few outlining trees of Fangorn Forest, though the forest itself was still some miles away. When the sun started setting the Riders had caught up with the rearguard of the Orcs, and shortly after they were driving the vile creatures along the line of the river and preventing them from scattering - none would escape their wrath.

Éomer waited with his command to attack. The horses were tiring out and would be far from their best if they were to go into battle now. It would turn a retreat into a massacre and he would not risk the lives of one hundred and nineteen other, also exhausted, men in that way. Instead he ordered his bowmen to do short, swift attacks on the Orcs. They quickly galloped closer to the Orcs, shot and swiftly rode out of the range of the answering bows. This was done several times without loss on the side of the Riders, for the shooting Orcs did not dare to stop and take good aim.

The night fell over Rohan, but Éomer still did not let his men fully overtake the Orcs. He guessed that about two hundred still lived and he knew his men were weaker if it came to battling in the night. The eaves of the forest were near now, and the Orcs would escape if they managed to reach it. Éomer gave the command to encircle the Orcs, but to stay out of shooting range. Once again his men were successful. 

A small band of Orcs tried to break through the circle and escape into the forest. All but three were slain; the survivors fled back to their newly set-up camp.

In the cold of the night the Riders lit up small watch-fires within a long bowshot from the Orcs, but they stayed out of the light of the fires and did not show themselves, nor did they make any sounds. Their ring of fires was enough to keep the Orcs away from them; the creatures were wasting arrows shooting blindly at the fires.

The night grew late and fog spread over the plains as the moon came up. Éomer ordered small groups to patrol the ring; he allowed no Orc to live. Somewhere during the hour that followed he sent out several Riders to get closer to the Orcs; he wanted to weaken their main defenses. His men rode close to the hostile camp, dismounted and crawled to the edge of the camp. With a silent gesture, Éomer gave the signal for attack. Swiftly they slew the Orc-guards and their friends, then the Riders quietly retreated.

By the rumor coming from the Orcs, Éomer knew that they had discovered their dead friends and were ready for some very vicious murdering—that is, more vicious than usual. The shouts died down, however, and the Orcs did not attack. Shortly after, the Third Marshal heard another cry and sent one of his men to see what was going on. The man was back in a few minutes.

'Lord, it seems that one of the creatures tried to escape from us, possibly to warn outside troops.'

'Did you stop it?'

'No need to, lord. Éothain had done it for me.'

'Very well. Dismissed.'

The man had not even turned around when new Orc-cries could be heard, inside the circle of watch-fires and out of it. Orcs from the outside were attacking.

'Eorlingas!' Éomer shouted. 'Close in on the orcs!' 

In a small amount of time the Riders had all mounted their horses, and they made the circle around the Orc-camp smaller right away while Éomer and a small company rode off to deal with the newcomers. Éomer was pleased to see that the new band of Orcs was not big at all and poorly equipped. He was left with some mild cuts after the skirmish, but he and his men had taken care of the newcomers without loss on their side. They returned to their camp to rest in what was left of the night.

Like a blood-red rose unfolding its leaves, the dawn came over the world. Éomer gave the signal to get ready for attack. The Riders started singing of glorious battles out of the past whilst preparing their horses. The sound of battle horns answering other battle horns greeted the rising sun. Soon all the Riders were ready, and with a fierce cry, they charged at their opponents.

The Orcs shouted and shot all the arrows that were left to them; a few Riders fell in that first charge. But the line of Riders still and wheeled around the Orcs, then they charged again. Those Orcs that tried to flee were pursued and each one of them was slain. One small band of Orcs nearly succeeded in escaping and was nearing the forest; the Orcs had already slain three Riders. Éomer summoned a small group of men and went after them.

The leader of these Orcs was large; Éomer was sure that he had never seen this type of Orc before. Yet he dismounted and challenged the creature, desiring to fight him sword to sword.

Without much effort he blocked the first blow aimed directly at his head. The Orc was quick, though, and Éomer did not get much chance to do other than defending. He knew that the Orc was merely trying to tire him and waiting for a good chance. A cry behind him made him drop his guard for a moment, and he wasn't fast enough to entirely prevent the blow aimed at his side. He'd look at the wound later.

Glaring at the Orc, he attacked ferociously; he wanted his vengeance. Every Orc deserved nothing else but death for what they and their kin had done to not only Théodred but also to all other peace-loving creature in Middle-earth. He cried out furiously, and with one fierce blow Éomer cleaved his opponent's skull in two.

That day the Riders of the Mark slew every Orc still alive. They made a great fire and burned all the Orc-corpses, singing songs of triumph in their labor. Over their fallen comrades they raised a large mound and they sang praises to them in tribute. Before the end of the day they were already on their way back to Aldburg, the cloven skull of the Orc captain left on a spear as a warning to other intruders.

Although they rode all through the night again, they did this at a slower pace and they halted more often than they had done before. The mists that had covered Rohan before were now rolling away, and by the coming of dawn all of them had done so.

Far behind the Riders in the northwest the shady eaves of Fangorn Forest could still be seen, although now nearly ten leagues were in between the forest and the Riders. Even farther away, beyond Fangorn could be seen the glimmering peak of the high Methedras; the last one of the Misty Mountains. The Entwash flowed through this part of Rohan as a swift and narrow stream coming out of the forest. Behind the Riders the thick black smokes of the great pyres could still be seen. In front of them were the last downs of the Eastemnet, or the first in their perspective.

Éomer now wished for haste, fearing that more orcs might have crossed the borders. He urged his men to ride hard and soon their strong voices could be heard crying out over the field as they rode like the wind. Éomer led his host southward, at the western skirts of the downs. The host had passed the first hill almost entirely when they heard a clear voice calling.

'What news from the North, Riders of Rohan?'

Astonishingly swiftly they checked their horses, turned and went riding around the three strangers on the hill, continuously drawing their circle closer about the strangers. All three of them were cloaked in something the Riders had never seen before.

A tall and dark-haired man, appearing to be the leader, stood up straight; the other two were sitting in the grass waiting only slightly anxiously for what was to come.

Suddenly the Riders halted, pointing their spears at the queer trio. Some of the Riders held their bows ready, arrows fitted to the strings. Éomer rode forward from the circle until his spear was within a foot of the man's breast.

'Who are you, and what are you doing in this land?' he demanded from the stranger.

'I am called Strider,' came the answer. 'I came out of the North. I am hunting Orcs.'

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E/N: Well, that's it for now. Just hope that this isn't too crappy and that you've enjoyed it. If so, I'll try to update sooner next time. Feedback is very much welcome, especially in the form of constructive criticism. Flames will be laughed at. Thanks for reading.


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